


Obscurity

by creatures_of_habit



Category: Stydia - Fandom, teen wolf - Fandom, werewolves - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Isaac Lahey - Freeform, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4057864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creatures_of_habit/pseuds/creatures_of_habit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 5 teen wolf possiblities, main character is Lydia and follows her actions after season 4 closed, if you like Malia I do not recommend you read this. <br/>if I have failed to edit this properly, it's because I really couldn't care less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lydia knew, and even though she knew she should support it, a small part of her heart still clenched when they were near. It was stupid. It was not like she was attached. She didn't even have a thing with Stiles. Except that stupid kiss. But it was nothing. Spare of the moment. To stop an anxiety attack. Or, that's what she told herself.  
She couldn't say she didn't see it coming, I mean she was an banshee for goodness sake, but she ignored it. Malia, the word tasted sour on her lips. This girl had come out of nowhere and taken everything her beady little coyote eyes laid upon. At first it just felt like a joke. Malia had been a coyote for eight years, how could she possibly function at the same social level as a seventeen year old, and it showed. She was so immature, and Stiles, stupid, desperate boy he was, had to go and kiss the girl. Boom, instant stalker girlfriend. Malia followed him everywhere, she went to all the same classes as him, (even though she was clearly never going to function at the same level as him) sat dutifully by his side every lunch, went home with him and even crept into his bed when he was asleep- and this was before they started dating.  
Stiles quickly fell into the palm of her hand, and Lydia ignored it, because she knew she was getting in too deep- over nothing. Last time lydia was in a serious relationship, her boyfriend turned out to be a man-eating-lizard-wolf, (and she didn't even count Aiden as serious) there was no way she was going to let obnoxious, skinny, pale, Stiles of all people, get to her. And so, their relationship grew, and Lydia let it happen.

Lydia watched it blossom, and kept quiet, and when Stiles came to her, she smiled words of encouragement. Lydia had always thought that her "special talent" would be the undoing of her, the straw that always drew short, but this relationship was quickly topping it. She was driven mad, with anger, with sadness, with pity, (pity for poor stiles, and what he had gotten himself into) and above that, jealousy.  
Jealousy; what and embarrassing emotion it was, it could make you do crazy things. Lydia had good reason to feel jealous. She had always been a beautiful and confident girl, and she had never been afraid to flaunt it. Lydia was the centre of the high school world, everyone wanted her, and now suddenly, someone didn't.  
The crowded school hall seemed to part as lydia walked past, keeping her head held high, so much had happened, and she had survived, she had no reason to hide. then she saw them, in the hall. Malia had her hand too low on his hips and her body pressed too close to his, and stiles had one hand in her hair (which looked like it had never been brushed, and probably hadn't) and another was venturing places that might have made a virgin blush. she froze, but inside she felt herself melting. her whole world was growing and burning around her everyday and she couldn't stop the buzzing thump of heartbeats from intercepting her mind, a constant and unavoidable pain, almost worse than the grief that ran in waves through her heart.  
Her whole body began to vibrate, hands shaking in a vigorous shenanigan, heart pounding in her ears- and her eyes blacked over. no matter how much she moved her head and opened and closed her eyes she could not escape the endless black pit beneath her eyelids. icy howls echoed in the hollow of her head and as the shrieks heightened, Lydia turned her head to the light, or, where she thought the light was. just as her vision began to reappear in bright swirling pictograms, she felt her whole body collapsing beneath her in a gust of crippling gravity, and let out a single, ear splitting, scream.

 

Stiles was here. "Lydia, Lydia, wake up," he beckoned, but as consciousness refilled her she grew aware of her own annoyance. she just lay there, eyes closed and waited for him to leave, like she knew he would, but he didn't. what felt like hours but was probably minutes passed and stiles never left he side. "Lydia, please, get up, I need you" he said, *if you need me then why are you dating Malia?* she thought, but she couldn't hear Malia anymore, so she reluctantly opened her eyes. "Miss me mu-ch?" She joked, but the last word caught in her throat.  
"Nah, not really," Stiles tried, "I just needed you alive, so you know, we don't all end up as werewolf dog-food." She attempted to laugh and but all that came out was a weak cough. "You would be lost without me." Lydia managed to choke out. "you ok?" stiles said, in his stupid adorable caring voice he reserved for her (and maybe Malia, but she was willing to overlook that fact, just this once) "yeah of course" she replied, and as she did, it occurred to her that she was no longer at the school. and she sat up abruptly. a little too abruptly it would seem, as the walls began to move and the ceiling swirled around her head. "wOwWowwoWwow, not so fast," and she felt stiles' bony bird hands pushing her back down again, with surprising strength. she closed her eyes and let herself drift away, but only for a moment she thought, because when she regained consciousness stiles' hand had not moved from her own.

"oh hey, your awake," he mumbled, and she could see the deep blue under his eyes and paler-than-usually-pale white of his face. "have-you-even-slept,how-long-was-I-out,what-time-is-it,where's-Derek,how-come-you're-not-with-Malia,are-my-parents-here,has-anyone-died?" the words tumbled out in a washing machine of words, without even a breath in between.  
"I was hoping you could answer that," and she immediately knew which question he was answering. "no, not that I know of, I was just stressed, nobody is dead, the scream meant nothing, I know nothing." and she felt blood flying to her face in a ridiculous -and totally unnecessary- fit of embarrassment. she laughed a little to herself, and stopped. She didn't know whether it was the drugs she could see pumping into her arm via a drip or just a buildup of stress, but something about her surroundings felt wrong. "wh-where am I?" she asked, turning her head towards stiles, only to discover he was no longer standing beside her.


	2. Chapter 2

fluorescent lights sent stars running under her eyelids, a flamboyant array of colour, but when she opened her lids, heavy with sleep like every other time she had tried to force them open this week, her vision was met with plain, sterile white, glowing in brilliant unison, like the whole world was a black sheet. as she adjusted to the light she noticed details, like the silver tray by her bed, covered in a disturbing array of knifes and clamps and syringes, and beside that a terrifyingly large... saw? The clinic. She was at the clinic. She felt relief flooding her veins, pumping to her heart.  
she tried to rise. she couldn't. her body wouldn't allow it. no. no. no. she was stuck. the bed. she was stuck to the bed. she was strapped down.  
the past moments relief turned foul, a poison, burning her hope.

"lydia, so pleased you could make it." Dr Deaton said, a plaster smile played on his face.

"wha-" lydia begins, but she is interrupted by the clang of metal on metal.  
"there has been... an interference." dr d says, carefully filling a silver syringe with a disturbingly flurecent liquid.  
"we have had to... delay the procedure." hot bile bites at Lydia's throat and she fights the urge to scream bloody murder, best to know what she's dealing with first.  
"Answer me," she pleads. "Tell me why I am here."  
Dr Deaton clicks his tongue, sounding disappointed.  
"if I told you that, it would ruin the surprise." and he presses the needle to her throbbing artery.

it seems like hours until she comes to, and when she does, it isn't real.  
it can't be real. it can't be real because leaning over her limp body- which she thinks for sure would smell like something dying, or already dead by now- is issac.but something is wrong with the vision because deep worry lines seem to have been suspended in his face, controlling, contorting. Although lydia can't hear anything but the constant behive in her ears there is something reassuring about seeing him there, even if it were not real. but a black shadow passes over her and suddenly the buzzing stops, and issac is not the only person in the room.  
when lydia seeing Deaton she automatically begins to squirm against the tight leather lashings attaching her to the bed, her first mistake. soon hands, so many hands, are grabbing her from all sides and pushing her down, even though she never lifted off more than a few centimetres. She can hear distant voices.  
*Dr Deaton!*  
*will this disrupt the chip?*  
*Hold her down.*  
*Should we sedate her again?*  
*is it time for the wipe?*  
*I'm preparing the van.*  
*what do mean the signals have been disrupted?*  
*she's waking up! she's waking up!*  
-and then, quieter-  
*I'm sorry, lydia.*  
-And That's when Lydia knew that she had not imagined Issac after all.


	3. Chapter 3

It is just like the first time. only worse.

Blood pounds in Lydia's ears, in a fiery wave of hot red. the only human thought she could calculate in her bursting brain is that, at least this time, she has clothes on. but clothes cannot protect lydia from herself. 

it starts as a lack of memory. for the life of her, lydia cannot remember a thing about herself, or how she came to be here. the memory seems to leave her in waves, at first she knows things, but they are water and her hands cannot hold water forever. here, as in the middle of Mexico, in the desert. as she digs deeper she realises that it goes deeper than that. lydia can't remember her age, she can't remember her family, she can't remember her name, all she knows is that she doesn't belong in this wasteland. she closes her eyes. Remember! Remember? *Remember* she mutters, but she can't. she stumbles in the direction of the fading sun, and unconsciously, the tiny tire imprints in the dirt, which she can't even see, but her banshee side can sense. but she doesn't know that, she doesn't know anything. the hours wear deep blisters into her feet, and once, she stumbles and cuts her hand on a sun-whitened twig, which leaves behind a huge chunk of wood in her flesh. by the time she reaches the village, darkness has enveloped the landscape, and two steps in, her knees give way and she finds herself drowning in sleep.

by the end of the second day, lydia almost wishes she hadn't made it through the first.  
The memories come back, all at once. It takes all Lydia's will power to keep her head from detaching from her neck. the first light of day breaks into her vision, and with it comes an overwhelming flood of pain.  
Not pain from the day before- though she feels that too, a soft ache in her muscles- but, what she could only describe as her body screaming. Through ever pore and hole in her body, it feels as though the air is deflating from her body, and she is floating. she is still in the village and as the sun grows higher a small crowd gathers around her.  
The pain pieces through her body, ricocheting through her head, and it feels like hunger. a deep and yearning hunger, gnawing at her bones. a woman steps forward and place a hand on her shoulder, tying to wake her, but the motion sends a shattering quake of convulsions from Lydia's shaking body to the woman's, and she jumps back, startled.  
there are shouts, none in English, and then they are wrapping lydia in sheets and dragging her somewhere.  
when she gets there- without knowing it- lydia begging to cry, crying from her heart. if lydia had control over her memories- which seem to be floating around aimlessly in her head, bouncing around in her skull at that moment- she would know that this is the first time she has cried since... ever- well not properly anyways, a tear hear and there, but this is different,this crying seems to rip a small part of her right out of her chest. she cries for her family, and the love she has for them, she cries for Jackson, poor, poor, Jackson, she cries for styles, and the opportunities she missed, she cries for her friend Alison, and she cries for herself, because she has to admit, even if it is only to herself, that she is scared, hell she is petrified. how can lydia be content with herself when she doesn't even know who she is anymore? she's not even human. lydia realises that she was a lot happier when she didn't know anything.

The hours turned to days and Lydia fevered and twitched but soon enough she felt healths crystal clarity gripping her back to reality. Pressing herself to the shaman lady in one last embrace, lydia took in the herbaceous smell that clung to her clothes and smiled a goodbye.


	4. Chapter 4

lydia looked down at the rough stitching on her palm, where she had jabbed a peice of wood under her skin in mexico- the shaman had done a good job fixing it. A trecle of sweat dropped from her hair as she went over her story one last time. an overhead voice reported, *terminal 6 for flight 39* *terminal 6 for flight 39* and Lydia felt a shiver coarse through her spine, despite the midday heat. she called her mum first, to a mountain of sobs and tears that could have cascaded out of the telephone, had lydia not been clutching a very much 'mobile' mobile phone. the lady it belonged to was wearing a positively flamboyant pink coat with matching heels's. lydia thought the glistening phone case was equilly exuberant to her clothing choice, and wondered why this woman had offered to help her at all. probably a pity call. Her flight was boarding and lydia had to reluctantly say goodbye to her mother, who replied with almost a whisper, "get home safe, my beautiful girl."  
the flight back was nutorious, mostly because the man in front of her made it his soul passion to ruin her trip; putting the seats back all the way, snoring like the earth was falling apart around him, and when he woke up, he still didnt put his chair up, instead, after -very loudly- calling out for 5! diet colas, he continued to pour cold soda into his mouth, onto his face, onto his chair, and mostly -though she couldnt figure out how- all over her clothes. it gave her some time to think though. mostly about excuses. she had told her mother the truth, after the bussiness with Merideth and herr Grandma she felt inclined to tell the truth about her *phychic life* - but only so far, she would never tell her mum about the crowd of wolves -literally- she hanged out with. so in other words she had told her mum that she in fact had no idea how she had ended up in the middle of a mexican desert and she had no idea why she had experienced a memory blank and she had no idea about anything.  
by the time the plane touched ground -it occurred to her now that she could have just waited, and gotten her mum to drive her home- Lydias legs had melted into the seat, and her neck had become a permanent fixture, connected to the headrest.  
this time had felt so different, everything about it felt different. Lydia shuffled herself out of the terminal, no luggage, just herself, and a pair of jeans and tee shirt someone had given her sometime down the line. lydia was home.


End file.
